


torn apart

by kiyala



Series: the sea of memories [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, M/M, References to Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-15
Updated: 2013-07-15
Packaged: 2017-12-20 06:45:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/884181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Pacific Rim AU] Grantaire and Bossuet were pilots of the Mark III Jaeger <i>Apollo Victor</i> together. That's the problem. Were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	torn apart

When it all comes down to it, _this_ is the thing that sticks with Grantaire, this one moment, ten seconds at most, that doesn't leave him alone. Not when he's thinking of other things, not even when he's numbed himself with enough alcohol to keep the rest of it at bay.

Joly was there. In the ops room, miles and miles away, safe and maybe even warm, if the heating system was working that day. Details. Details that Grantaire doesn't know if he ever learned but sure as hell has forgotten, if he did. Joly was there, tears in his voice—tears that were still in his eyes, when Grantaire finally crawled his way back to base—and he sounded absolutely powerless, no matter how much he cried and begged and pleaded for something other than reality. Powerless. Just like Grantaire.

And in those ten horrible seconds, Grantaire learned something that he just can't fucking forget. He knows what it feels like to die. He can shut his eyes and when he's unlucky enough, he doesn't even need to do that. He's taken right back to that moment. It's been five years and thousands of miles, and Grantaire still hasn't learned how to outrun a memory. 

Grantaire had first met Bossuet when they were in training for the Jaeger program. They'd been young, nervous, desperate to prove themselves. Sometimes, on their nights off in the safety of the barracks and with enough alcohol in their systems, they even thought that they could save the world. They'd made close friends immediately, and that was probably what had led to them being chosen to pilot Apollo Victor together. They matched each other identically in some aspects, while being polar opposites in others. 

Bossuet was cheerful, always finding a way to laugh at the things around him, no matter how bleak they became. He tempered Grantaire, managing to pull him from his black moods whenever they threatened to overtake him. Bossuet was the entire reason that Grantaire knew Joly, and while the relationship he had with Bossuet was completely different to the one that Grantaire did, the three of them got along extremely well.

When the category IV Kaiju they were fighting managed to overpower Apollo Victor and tear its way through the metal hull and into the cockpit, it had been Bossuet who was unlucky enough to draw its attention. Grantaire isn't even sure if it had been an accident, or he had done it on purpose. Grantaire doesn't know which answer he'd prefer and either way, he doesn't have one. 

Bossuet had been torn out of his connections but still in the Drift as the monster's claws crushed his body, squeezing the life out of him in a slow, painful struggle. He'd screamed in pain and Grantaire still isn't sure if the _I don't want to die!_ had been yelled out, or if it had just been a thought, but Grantaire had heard it all the same.

He doesn't remember how he'd managed to get Apollo Victor to shore. He doesn't remember anything between feeling Bossuet dying and waking up in hospital. Any stubborn memories that tried to cling to his mind have since been purged with years of heavy drinking until he was physically ill from it, followed by years of forced sobriety that made him feel even worse. 

They'd told him that it was impressive that he had the ability to pilot what remained of Victor Apollo to shore at all. The strain it would have caused him would have been unbelievable. They gave him respect and commendations. It meant nothing to him. They couldn't give him Bossuet back. 

He tried staying, even though every cell in his body was screaming to run, to hide, to lose himself so thoroughly that nobody would find him, no matter how hard they tried. He stayed for Joly, who sat by Grantaire's bedside until he was discharged from hospital. Joly, who was the only one who truly understood the gaping hole that Bossuet left behind. 

Grantaire tried to fit himself into that gap, tried to be a good replacement, for Joly, for himself. If he took on as many of Bossuet's traits as he possibly could, plucking mannerisms and speech patterns from the Drift and letting them replace his own, at least he didn't have to wake in the middle of the night with the sudden fear that Bossuet would someday fade into nothing, that they would forget what his smile looked like, what his laugh sounded like. 

It didn't work.

Bossuet had been a bridge between them, something to keep them both stable, and without him, they were falling apart at the seams. Grantaire couldn't be that, and when he laughed, it was a mix between Bossuet's delight and his own bitterness, and he could tell that it was tearing Joly apart. He could see it, and as far as Grantaire was concerned, there was no need for both of them to crumble without Bossuet there. Joly still had work to do in that ops room. He had other pilots to guide, with Valjean standing at his shoulder and overseeing everything. Without a second pilot and without a functioning Jaeger, Grantaire had nothing.

So he gave into his urge to run, trying to avoid the memories just as he was trying to avoid the pain he was causing Joly. Maybe Joly would heal. It didn't matter that Grantaire couldn't.

Which leaves him here, all the way up north, working on a Wall that he knows won't work and wondering if the cold will manage to kill him before the world ends. 

There are so many people here that only the truly determined ones manage to establish something that resembles friendship. It's difficult enough trying to recognise people weighed down by their multiple layers of wool, the hoods of their jackets pulled up to cover their heads, that Grantaire doesn't bother. Grantaire works alone, sits alone, the ghost of Bossuet keeping him company because his mind's never quite let go. Somewhere in his head, he's still in the cockpit of Apollo Victor, half of it torn apart, feeling Bossuet die over and over.

"So this is where you've been hiding?" Marshall Jean Valjean asks, arms folded against his chest when he finally tracks Grantaire down. He doesn't sound particularly impressed.

"Well. Clearly I haven't been doing a very good job of it." Grantaire's smile are humourless. Mirthless. Nothing like the smiles Bossuet would have for everyone. 

"Do you think this is going to work?" Valjean's talking about the Wall. He casts a critical eye at it, which says enough about his own opinion. "You think this is going to be strong enough to keep even one Kaiju out?"

"Nothing's going to work," Grantaire replies with a lazy shrug, pretending that it doesn't terrify him. "We're all going to die anyway."

Valjean huffs quietly. "Ever the optimist."

" _Realist_."

"So this is where you have chosen as your final resting place?" Valjean asks him. "Your final stand is going to be here, on a Wall that you don't believe in, surrounded by people who you don't care about."

"Where else do I have?" Grantaire asks with a weak laugh. There was one place he felt that he belonged, but he knows that it doesn't even exist any more. Nothing but empty halls and boxes that nobody ever bothered moving out.

"You could die in a Jaeger—"

"I've done that once already." Grantaire shakes his head. "I know what that's like. I don't want to do that again. Besides, you guys were shut down."

"They cut off our funding," Valjean corrects. "There's a difference."

Grantaire turns to him, frowning. "How much of a difference?"

"Four Jaegers worth of a difference." This time, Valjean turns around so he's facing Grantaire, and looks him right in the eye. "I've had to beg, borrow and steal what resources I could."

Grantaire snorts. "Nothing you're new to, then."

"I've salvaged machines across different periods," Valjean says, ignoring him. "A Mark I, a Mark III, a Mark IV and a Mark V. We're finishing up the restoration work now."

"Couldn't find a Mark II and finish the collection?" 

Again, Valjean ignores him. "I believe you'll recognise the Mark III."

"No," Grantaire breathes. "Please."

"Victor Apollo is in need of two pilots," Valjean tells him. "I'd like to think that I've already found one."

"Fuck you," Grantaire says quietly, and he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Valjean takes it for the assent that it is.

"Pack your bags, Ranger. We're leaving in an hour."


End file.
